Scandal in the Skankiverse
by Jungle Kitty
Summary: A meeting between the two most repulsive females ever encountered by Our Heroes in gold and blue. The Skankiverse is a newly discovered A/U.


#  Scandal in the Skankiverse

(c) 1999 Jungle Kitty 

Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.

Comments, praise, questions, and criticism are more than welcome.

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DING! Folks, this is the writer. We're running into a little silliness, so for your own protection, I'm going to ask that you fasten your seatbelts, just as I do here at the computer, until the story has come to a complete halt at the moderator's gate. Due to the brevity of this story, there will be no beverage service. I'm Kitty, fly meeeee...

* * * * * * * * * *

"Oh, I'm a beaver, you're a beaver,  
We are beavers all!  
When we get together,  
We give the beaver call!  
OHHHHHHH--"

"Sergeant Nimbus!" roared the Chief of Police. "Get in here! NOW!"

"Yes, sir!" responded a hardy woman as she scrambled into her superior's office.

"And close that door!"

"Yes, sir!"

The sound of boisterous female laughter was muffled. Slightly.

"What the hell is going on out there?"

"Sir, it's those two women who were just brought in. They won't stop singing that song!"

"What are they charged with?"

"Vandalism, public drunkenness, and grand theft-shuttlecraft. They--"

"Impossible! No one has dared to disturb the peace in Stratus City in over two hundred years. I'm retiring next week and that record will stand!"

"Yes, sir, I know. But apparently no one told the two, er, ladies."

The door opened again, and a nervous young man, obviously fresh out of the Police Academy, marched in and saluted smartly, to the screeching refrain of "--give the beaver call! OHHHHHH--"

"CLOSE THAT DOOR!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Constable, do you have something to report?"

"Yes, sir! We managed to scrape the rust off the door of the drunk tank, sir! The two perpetrators have been processed and are being incarcerated, sir!"

"Were you the arresting officer?"

"Yes, sir!"

The Chief gave the young man a withering look. "What's your name again? Cirrus?"

"Cumulo, sir."

"Your first arrest, Cumulo?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, relax. Just give me your report."

"Sir! At 0427 this afternoon, sir! We received a report of alleged ongoing vandalism, sir! We proceeded to the alleged site of the alleged incident, sir! Two female perpetrators were observed applying spray-paint--"

"Cumulo," the Chief said wearily.

"Sir!"

"Tone it down, will you?"

"Sir?"

"Just tell me what happened without all the 'sirs' and 'allegeds.'"

"Yes, sir. Uh, apparently the two ladies--"

The comm unit on the Chief's desk whistled. He flipped the switch and heard, "--we are Beavers all--"

"SHUT UP, YOU TWO!" roared an angry voice.

"Yah, make us, tough boy!"

"CHIEF! ARE YOU THERE?"

"Yes, Overcast," the Chief said. "What is it?"

"SIR! THERE'S A PROBLEM IN THE DRUNK TANK! THOSE WOMEN SAY THAT THEY'RE IMPORTANT PEOPLE! THEY'RE THREATENING TO--"

"*Verrrry* importan' people!" 

Up until that moment, the Chief wouldn't have thought it possible to slur and shriek at the same time, but the woman on the other end of the comm was managing it. 

"I'm a shelebrity--a very famous artiste!"

"And *my* husban'--" Another equally shrill voice chimed in. "*My* husban' is--well, I'm not sure exackly wha' he is, but he's importan', too!"

"QUIET!" the Chief thundered. "Overcast, can they identify themselves?"

"You bet your shweet swizzle shtick we can! I'm Drokshine, and my father is Plashush--"

"Plassus?" The Chief sensed an oncoming storm. "The High Adviser of Stratus City?"

"The very shame, er, same. And this is my new bes' fren', Shananana."

"Jus' Shanna."

"Sorry. And we *deman'* to be released immedially!"

"I'll see what I can do." The Chief clicked off the intercom and dropped his head to his hands.

*The daughter of Plassus! Drunk! In *my* jail! And one week before retirement!*

He looked up at the two officers and sighed.

"All right, Cumulo. Start at the beginning."

"Sir," Sergeant Nimbus interrupted. "I'm not familiar with Droxine's artwork. Is she--?"

"Not familiar? Don't you pay attention to anything? That vaporous bimbo has been the critics' darling five years running. Surely you heard about her latest spectacle? It was a performance art piece called 'Boodly Boodly Boodly Hey with Sparkles.' My wife dragged me to it. For three hours, Droxine and six of her girlfriends painted each other's toenails with glitter, while a bunch of trained monkeys and one Doberman performed the collected works of John Tesh. On banjoes."

"Sir?"

The Chief shrugged. "That's what passes for art these days."

"I believe they were planning to tour it to the caves," Cumulo chimed in helpfully, "until the performers were informed that the caves are dirty." 

Right now, the Chief sincerely wished that Droxine and her new best friend were in those caves. Or better yet, *under* those caves. 

"I guess we better call her father," he said.

"Sir," Cumulo said. "Earlier, she asked that we contact her husband."

"Husband? Someone married that pretentious over-fluffed piece of effluvium? Well, call the poor bastard."

"We're trying, sir. But he's several light years away."

"What?"

"He's an officer in the Federation's Starfleet, sir. A Vulcan serving aboard the starship Enterprise--"

"A Vulcan? I thought they were supposed to be so smart. Oh, well, no accounting for taste. Or the lack of it. Keep trying to reach him. Now what about the other woman, um, what's her name again? Vanna?"

"Shanna, sir," Sergeant Nimbus said. "She's a visitor from Triskelion. We've contacted their embassy, and they refuse to take her back."

"Does she have any family?"

"Her husband--also a Starfleet officer--is a friend of the Vulcan's. They dropped her off here to wait out her pregnancy."

"She's *pregnant*? And *drunk*?"

"She's trash, sir," the sergeant explained. "Pure silver trash. See for yourself." 

She set her padd down in front of the Chief.

"Oh, fog and condensation!" the Chief swore as he stared at the picture of a bleary-eyed woman with giant silver hair, excessive makeup, and no chin. She was clad in what appeared to be an aluminum foil bikini. And her belly--he shuddered involuntarily--her belly, hugely swollen with pregnancy, slopped obscenely over the top of her tattered panties. 

Smog-a-doodle-doo! He'd seen some unattractive mug shots, but this one put the 'ugh' in ugly. 

He looked up at the sergeant pleadingly.

"Nimbus, tell me this is a joke. Something the boys in the lab cooked up for Dress Like The Woman Your Father Is Glad He Didn't Marry Day."

"No, sir. Sorry."

"Unbelievable," he muttered. "She'd make a freight train take a dirt road."

"Sir?"

"Never mind. Get that out of my sight." 

The Chief shoved the padd back into Nimbus' hands, but he was quite certain that Shanna of Triskelion, drunk, pregnant, and singing "I'm a beaver," would haunt his nightmares for weeks to come. 

God pity her husband. No wonder he had dropped her off and fled like summer lightning. Probably met her one night--one very *dark* night--and was lured to her habitat--most likely an abandoned grav crate--where he enjoyed the pleasures of a drunken bachelor, only to wake up the next morning a hung-over husband.

*Well, too bad, Mr. Shanna of Triskelion. I don't care where you are or who you are. She's your wife, and you can come and get her. I'm not about to have her drop her spawn in my jail.*

"Have you contacted Starfleet?" he demanded.

"Uh, no, sir." Cumulo shuffled his feet uncomfortably.

"Nimbus, get on it," he growled impatiently.

Nimbus sprang at the opportunity to escape the gathering gloom of the Chief's office.

"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!"

As she opened the door, she couldn't help humming along with the jarring notes of "We are beavers all, When we get together--"

"NIMBUS!"

"Sorry, sir."

She left, closing the door behind her.

"All right, Cumulo. Finish your report. How did these two hook up?"

"As I said, sir, their husbands are friends. The Triskelion woman arrived in Stratus City yesterday. She and Droxine had lunch today at the Maison de la Casa House. Droxine had at least ten Fluffy Pink Spritzers, and Shanna was drinking..." The constable glanced down at his padd and pressed a button repeatedly. "...uh, let's see...Oh, here it is. Genesee beer."

"Never heard of it."

"No, sir, it's not local. She brought it with her. In a Dukes of Hazzard cooler. As the lunch progressed, the two women became quite noisy. The management spoke to them several times, and finally asked them to leave when they started building mousse sculptures of their husbands' genitalia. A loud and very explicit discussion of the gentlemen's sexual techniques continued on the street. Officer P. Hazy and I were dispatched to the restaurant, but by the time we arrived, the women had stolen a shuttlecraft."

"Oh, no..."

"We pursued them over the city. After terrorizing the patrons outside the Tri-Orpheum Theatre--"

"Patrons? At the Tri-Orpheum? I thought they condemned that monstrosity." 

"No, sir. They remodeled it. Retro-contemporary-futuristic, I think. The Andrew Lloyd Webber Festival opened this weekend."

"Oh, fog on little cat feet!" the Chief cursed. Something *else* the wife would drag him to.

"Sir?"

"Continue, Cumulo."

"Yes, sir. They swooped under the city and used the spray paint to...uh..."

"Yes, Cumulo?"

"Sir, they--well, they hovered under the city and--Well, see for yourself, sir. It's on all the vid channels."

"WHAT!" The Chief sprang to his feet. "Computer! Display the underside of Stratus City."

The shock of what appeared on the screen knocked him back into his chair. Cumulo began edging toward the door.

"Get in touch with the husbands," the Chief said in a voice heavy with doom. "I don't care where they are. I don't care what it takes. I don't care if it causes a galactic incident. I want those women out of here."

As Cumulo opened the door, the Chief heard yet another chorus of "Oh, I'm a beaver, you're a beaver--"

"GOD'S BEST SPANGLED GALOSHES, WILL YOU SHUT THAT DOOR!"

And then the Chief was alone with his dreary thoughts.

Staring at the viewscreen, he imagined he could hear the laughter of the Troglytes below on the planet's surface. Yes, the Troglytes would certainly be amused.

*It *would* be a clear day.*

Two hundred years of civil order. Shattered--within one week of his retirement--blasted into nothingness by the two skankiest women in the galaxy, women who even now were--

The door crashed open, and a high-pitched hysterical voice sliced through the silence.

"--When we get together, We give the beaver call! Come on, Shanna, sing! OHHHHHHHH--"

"Sir!" Nimbus shouted. "The Triskelion woman has gone into labor!"

"Of course," the Chief replied in a dull monotone as a light mist stung at his eyes. "Call a doctor. Boil water. Gather clean aluminum foil."

"Sir?" Nimbus approached him carefully with a puzzled expression on her face. "Sir?"

But the Chief didn't respond. He was staring at the screen and wondering how someone that drunk had managed to write legibly. And in twenty-foot letters.

STARFLEET BUTTS MAKE US NUTS!

The Chief put his head to his desk and sobbed.

[The End] 

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This story has a sequel: _ ["Murder in the Skankiverse][3]."_

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